


When My Heart Heard Yours

by NorthernWall



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: F/M, Growing Up Together, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Non-Military AU, Prompt Fic, Snapshots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-08
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2019-03-27 15:14:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13883535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NorthernWall/pseuds/NorthernWall
Summary: From childhood to parenthood, Olivier and Miles are no strangers to tears. Snapshots of their lives, joys, and sorrows together.





	When My Heart Heard Yours

**Author's Note:**

  * For [InkuisitivSkins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkuisitivSkins/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DYLAN! 
> 
> This is for the prompt "I heard you crying. Are you alright?" that you sent me on Tumblr. I hope you like it!

Miles rubbed his eyes with grubby hands and sniffled. The garden wall behind the playground was only temporary shelter, and the last thing he wanted was for the bigger kids to see him crying. He just needed to pull himself together and then--too late. A pair of shiny patent-leather mary janes and lace ruffled socks appeared in front of him.

“I heard you crying.”

He lifted his head slowly. Olivier Armstrong was frowning down at him, hands on hips, a smear of dirt on her cheek, a big bow perched crookedly on her head. He glared wordlessly up at her.

“Why are you crying?”

“What’s it to you?”

She tilted her head, “you’re the scholarship kid, aren’t you?”

“You wanna make fun of me, too?” He got to his feet, balling his hands into fists. “I’ll fight you!” Now that he was standing he was a head taller than her, his lanky limbs awkward and unwieldy.

“I wasn’t making fun,” she countered, crossing her arms over the uniform blazer and glaring up at him. “Besides, I would beat you.”

“Would not!”

She rolled her eyes, “Whatever. If you want to sit over here by yourself and cry you can. I _was_ going to see if you wanted to play pirates with me, but if you’re too much of a baby-” she turned to go.

Biting down a protest, he held out a hand. “Wait! What kind of pirates?”

She turned back, grinning. “I’ve taken over the sandbox and fended off that little brat Roy Mustang. I think he’ll come back soon. But we’ll win, you know why?”

“No. Why?”

“Because,” there was a glint in her that made him forget entirely about the bullies he’d been hiding from, “we have _swords._ ”

It didn’t matter that the swords were just branches Olivier had pilfered from the playground or that they got in trouble after Roy got sand in his eyes and Riza told the teachers on them, Miles was hooked.

\---

She didn’t wear mary janes anymore. Miles wasn’t sure when she’d switched to the ballet flats, but the first time he noticed them she was showing off her new braces at the start of the term. He still had beat up tennis shoes from the year before, and his smile would always be a little bit crooked. She didn’t see him around her gaggle of admirers and he felt suddenly self-conscious in his hand-me-down uniform, which was simultaneously too wide and too short on him. He slipped away before she saw him and trudged on to his first class instead.

Avoiding her for a full day wasn’t exactly intentional, but between the misfitting uniform, the spots of acne that had cropped up seemingly overnight, and the way his voice cracked at inopportune moments, he didn’t feel up to trying to push his way through the boys that hovered around the girl.

The next day, the shiny car that ferried the Armstrong siblings to and from school was late. Miles was, himself, cutting across the school grounds to get to the doors before first bell, when the siblings piled out, running for their classes even though Miles knew their parents were such generous donors to the school they could be late everyday and never be reprimanded, quite unlike himself who would likely get detention for being late once. Olivier was the last to get out, her face angry.

A woman Miles could only describe as grey clambered out after her grabbing hold of her arm and stopping her stomping journey. Miles paused for a moment, watching the pair arguing quietly, but viciously, before shaking his head and changing his aim for the side door where they wouldn’t see him slip in. If Olivier was going to argue with her governess it wasn’t actually any of his business.

The door was in sight with moments to spare, and his fingers closed around the handle. He was about to pull it open and escape inside when a resounding slap rung out. His hand fell away from the handle and he stepped back to look around the corner. Olivier was holding her cheek, her face was turned away. He stood frozen as the governess lectured, unsure what to do.

The ringing of the bell startled him and he looked away, panic rising. Should he run and hope he could make his class, or…? When he looked back, the Armstrong’s car was pulling down the driveway, and he couldn’t see Olivier anymore. He hovered in place, and then the ringing faded away and a different sound met his ears: a quiet sob.

Giving up on the idea of making first period at all, he followed the sound to the thick hedge that lined the drive. Peering over, he found Olivier crouching in between two bushes, her head on her knees.

“Olivier?”

She started, her head snapping up to meet his gaze. Her face was pink and puffy from tears, and the cheek she’d been covering had an angry red welt. “How did you-?”

“I heard you crying.” He certainly wasn’t going to reveal what he’d seen unless she brought it up first. “Are you alright?”

She nodded, and then a look of anger came over her and she leapt to her feet. “No thanks to you, you stupid idiot!” He stepped backwards in alarmed dismay, but she followed, pushing through the bushes, ignoring the branches catching at her uniform.

“W-what did I do?”

“I was worried sick about you yesterday!”

“Oh.”              

“Why were you avoiding me?”

“I, um-” he glanced down at his scuffed shoes and too-short trousers and bit his lip. “You had all those other people with you, I wasn’t sure if you’d want me around.”

“What _Roy Mustang_ and his friends? You think I’d rather hang out with them, then you?”

“Well, Roy’s not so, you know.”

“What?”

Miles fidgeted with a threadbare sleeve. “He’s you know, cool, and maybe his aunt isn’t as rich as your parents, but _he_ isn’t wearing charity bin clothes.” Olivier opened her mouth, but he pressed on, quieter but persistent. “I don’t even remember the last time I saw someone else with red eyes.”

She was quiet for a minute, watching him with a frown. “I still think you’re an idiot,” she said at last, “I don’t care about where your clothes come from. You’re unique, and I know that must be lonely, but I think you’re really cool. So quit avoiding me, okay?”

Miles blushed and nodded, “okay.” He finally looked up from his shoes and was reminded of why he’d come over to talk to her in the first place courtesy of the still-red mark on her cheek. He reached up to touch it, unthinking, and at the last second yanked his hand away. “Does it hurt?”

“Not really,” she flashed him a brave smile full of shiny metal, “but if she hasn’t cooled off before I go home, I won’t be sitting down for a while.”

“I suppose we should really get to class, then.”

“You go ahead and go. I don’t want to.”

He gaped at her, “you’re going to skip class?”

She shrugged, “it’s just maths and it’s boring anyway. I’m going to go down by the garden pond. I saw a cat there yesterday and I want to see if it’s still there.”    

“Okay.” He drew a deep breath, “we’d better hurry if we don’t want to get caught.”

“You’re coming?” At his nod her face lit up and she turned to hurry down the path, “well come on, slowpoke!”

They found the cat, and the school security officer found them. Sitting in detention every afternoon for a week writing lines until his cramping fingers bled wasn’t in any way what Miles considered an enjoyable activity. Regardless, he decided he’d do it everyday if it meant making Olivier smile like that again.

\---

It was one of those early spring days when the sun was shining and the bright green leaves were swaying in the breeze and absolutely no one wanted to be stuck inside revising for exams. Miles was no exception as he scribbled away at a history essay that, unlike the course, didn’t gloss over the nastier aspects of Amestris’ xenophobia. He probably wouldn’t get a very good grade on it, but so long as he passed he didn’t particularly care.

“Excuse me, sorry to interrupt,” an administrative assistant Miles only vaguely recognized stuck her head in, “Mr. Miles, if you would come with me?” Blinking in surprise, Miles rose. “Oh, and bring your things, thank you.”

Even more confused, he packed up his belongings and made his way to the door aware of twenty-three sets of eyes watching him. The administrative assistant gave him a somewhat nervous smile but didn’t explain as she led him to the office. The headmaster himself was standing in the little office lobby looking equally nervous. His confusion grew.

The headmaster turned and fixed him with a bright smile even though Miles usually only earned a look as though the elderly gentleman thought he smelled particularly badly. “Ah, there you are, Florence.” Miles’ brows shot up at the butchered attempt at pleasantry, but didn’t correct him. “You have a visitor.”

Miles followed the professor’s gesture to the corner and immediately knew what was prompting the strange behavior. A tall scholar stood in the corner, proud and unperturbed by their odd behavior. It wasn’t his white ponytail or dark skin that bothered them so much as the deep red eyes watching them with a glint of amusement in them and the long tunic and sandals, a _cingul,_ and loose white trousers that had upset them. An Ishvalan was rare enough this close to Central, an unapologetic one was unheard of.

A grin split his face from ear to ear. “Grandfather!” He paused just long enough for a bow to respect his elder before throwing his arms around the man. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to see you, of course.” He squeezed the teen’s shoulders affectionately, “I’ve worked it out with your teachers, and you’re going to have the rest of the day off.”

“Really?” Miles’ head snapped around to check with the headmaster who nodded, not happily. “Can we leave right now?”

Grandfather nodded. “You’ve just got to sign out and we can go.” Miles scrawled his signature on the clipboard as quickly as he could and turned back, beaming.

Class let out just as they began walking down the halls and Miles internally cringed. He wasn’t ashamed of his grandfather but at the same time he didn’t want the extra attention. Where he would weave through crowds and hug the edges trying to get by unseen, Grandfather would march straight down the middle, forcing the crowds to part before him. The halls were unusually quiet as he walked behind his grandfather, ducking his head even though it would be impossible to hide his identity. Several students pointed and whispered, a few even gasped, and some of the younger students hid behind older and taller ones as though Grandfather might suddenly lash out like a feral animal.

Olivier alone approached them, her head held high and her eyes narrowed at her fellow students. “Getting out for the day, Miles? Lucky!” He nodded and she watched him unimpressed. “Tch! Try to have some enthusiasm.” She turned to Grandfather and extended her hand. “Miles seems to be doing a good impression of stupid so I’ll just introduce myself. Olivier Armstrong, pleased to meet you, Mr. Miles.”

“It’s Zharad, actually,” Miles couldn’t meet Olivier’s eyes knowing full well what type of confused look she was giving him, “and the pleasure is mine.”

Olivier had to move on to her next class and Miles was spared anymore embarrassment until they made it outside and Grandfather turned to him, lips twitching. “So, that was her, then?”

“Her?” Miles queried innocently.

“Your young lady friend that you’re always writing me about. You know, the _pretty one._ ”

Miles’ face flushed. “I don’t write about her that often. And I don’t know why you’re emphasizing that so weirdly. She _is_ pretty.”

“She’s usually a page and a half of your two page letters,” Grandfather ruffled his hair affectionately, “and I wasn’t contending that she wasn’t pretty. You mention it a lot.”

“I do not!” His protest sounded hollow even to him.

Grandfather laughed, not unkindly. “Whatever you say, Flor.”

Miles gave him a sour look, earning another hair ruffle. “Where are we going?”

“Where would you like to go?” Grandfather beamed at him. “I was thinking we could catch the train into Central and go to the shopping district, perhaps? I hear there’s a lovely park and an ice cream shop that’s simply wonderful.”

Miles cheered up instantly. He knew his grandparents read his letters as they faithfully replied, but it was comforting to know his grandfather remembered such a little detail as the time he’d gone to an ice cream shop in the middle of central and positively loved it. He forced himself not to ask about money. Grandfather’s financial state ebbed and flowed with the tide of turning political situations. He wouldn’t spend money he didn’t have, even to spoil his favorite grandson.

They chatted happily on the train ride, ignoring dark looks and stares from their fellow passengers. Grandfather caught him up to date on things back in Ishval and Miles supplemented his letters with accounts of his daily activities. He self-consciously caught himself mentioning Olivier more often than not, and he wasn’t sure if she was always the center of his conversations or if it just felt that way under Grandfather’s amused gaze.

“You’ve just about grown out of that uniform, haven’t you?” Grandfather commented as they disembarked from the train. “You’ve got my genes to thank for that, I’m afraid.”

“It’s harder to find the taller sizes second hand. Mother’s going to let it out again soon.”

“Let’s save her the trouble, hmm? There’s a shop that sells CCA uniforms just there.”

“Have you _seen_ how much they cost? You can’t buy me a new uniform!”

Grandfather’s face darkened. “Is that how we speak to our elders, Florentino?” The rumbling warning was issued in Ishvalan to underscore his point.

Chastised, Miles ducked his head and responded in kind. “Thank you, Grandfather, but I cannot accept your gift. It is too much.”

“Let me worry about that.”     

Miles opened his mouth to protest, but stopped at the look on his face. “Yes, Grandfather.”

The clerks in the shop gave them disdainful looks when they entered, but Grandfather persisted gently explaining what they were there for. While Miles was measured and fitted into a new uniform, he continued making pleasant chit-chat. It was a measure of how well spoken and charming he was that by the time they left the clerks that been so uncomfortable when an Ishvalan walked in were laughing and chattering and telling them they hoped he would come back.

“Make note of that, Miles.” Grandfather commented as Miles juggled the shopping bags. “You can scream and shout all you want, but people will respect you much more if you’re patient and kind. Do you understand?”    

He seemed so somber that Miles hastened to nod, “Yes, Grandfather.”

“Wonderful! Let’s go for that ice cream we were talking about.”

The ice cream shop balcony looked out over the street and they chose a table under a brightly-colored umbrella to enjoy their sundaes at. They watched the passers-by with mild interest, basking in the midday sunlight until Grandfather spoke again.

“I want you to always remember what I said earlier about being patient and kind, but also know this: there are times when you cannot sit by any longer, and you must stand up for what is right, even at great risk to yourself.” Miles frowned at him over the melted spoonful of ice cream and fudge that was halfway to his mouth. “I want the best possible future for you, and the path ahead is uncertain. Ishvala calls all to her bosom in her good time, after all.” He smiled benignly, “put your ice cream in your mouth, young man, or it’ll drip on your pants.”

Miles dropped the spoon into his bowl, instead. “What’s going on?”

“Time will tell.”

“That’s not an answer!”

“I know.” Grandfather leaned across the table to take his face into weathered hands. “I don’t have any more of an answer to give you, I need you to trust me.”

“Yes, Grandfather.”

“Thank you, Miles.” The old man chuckled unexpectedly. “You really are growing up, you’ve got peach fuzz!”

“Grandfather!”

He only laughed in response.

 

His funeral was two weeks later. Newspapers ran headlines like _Anti-Amestrian Propagandist Shot While Resisting Arrest,_ and _Ishvalan Rabble-Rouser Killed._ None of them mentioned his heartbroken multiracial family. His controversial writings were dismissed as “agitating” and “inflammatory” rather than the pleas for unity and disavowal of the rising tensions between Ishvalans and Amestrians.

Miles had to be brave and stay strong at home. His father was ill and his mother stressed beyond belief, struggling to care for her beloved children. Grandmother moved in, needing to be away from the home where her husband had been shot. At school, he was subject to mockery and teasing already, breaking down in class would just be the icing on the cake.

A usually locked supply closet provided him shelter when he couldn’t bear it any longer, leaning against the wall between mops and shelves and sobbing. The door opened a crack and the light illuminated a familiar figure. Olivier let herself in, shutting the door quietly behind her.

“I heard you crying,” she said by way of explanation, knowing better than to ask if he was alright.

When she opened her arms he fell into them, burying his face in her shoulder and weeping without abandon. She held him up without comment, his silent rock in a swirling sea of despair. Without her, he was lost.

\---

Graduation day was usually a happy event. Studying her reflection in the poor lighting of the school’s bathroom mirror, Olivier wasn’t sure how to feel. Valedictorian. Accepted into her top choice: North City’s prestigious Briggs University. She should be over the moon. She certainly wasn’t sad to be leaving the Academy, but how was she supposed to get up in front of all her classmates and their parents and give a speech about the future and working hard together when she’d suffered and struggled so much?

The walk up to the podium felt like a death march. She planted her hands on the smooth wooden surface where the headmaster-approved copy of her speech was waiting. She glanced over the crowd, eyes landing on her oversized family, waving excitedly. She didn’t smile.

 _“Thank you all for coming today.”_ She arranged her mouth into what she hoped was the friendly smile her speech teacher had lectured her about. _“It’s an honor to be up here today. It’s been a long four years, and I’m so-”_ her eyes landed on Miles out in the audience, he gave her a slightly crooked smile, _“grateful. I’ve had so many wonderful opportunities here, and-”_ she broke off, glancing down at her shaking hands, knuckles white from her deathgrip on the podium, _“Sorry. I want to especially thank Headmaster Bradley for-”_ Miles’ eyes were far from the only ones fixed on her, but she felt the weight of them especially, _“handling the change in leadership this past year so smoothly. I think he’s been a wonderful addition to-”_ she was sweating and shaking _“Central City Academy, which of course has been our home for so long. I really-”_ her stomach churned and she tightened her grip, “ _can’t say thank you to all of our wonderful teachers enough. Especially, Professor--you know what? No.”_

She wiped the approved speech off the podium, _“I can’t give this speech. My best friend was asked not to walk today because he ‘didn’t reflect the image of CCA’ in a way that our professors approved of.”_ Her parents were staring at her in shock. A ripple went through the crowd. She didn’t dare look at Miles. _“Why? Because he’s an Ishvalan kid on a scholarship. He’s brilliant and if the professors scored fairly he’d be standing up here, not me.”_ He was not going to be happy with her for this. _“All throughout our time here he has been bullied and judged and no one has ever stepped in.”_

She could see the professors trying to work out if stopping her would cause a bigger scene than just letting her finish. _“He wasn’t the only one. Bullying and harassment have run rampant here. The professors are just as guilty as the students. Maybe more so, since they’re the ones who were supposed to be protecting us. One professor has harassed and made lewd comments to girls so many times without consequence that we’ve given up reporting him.”_

It was a testament of how widespread the problem was that more than half the eyes in the auditorium turned to Professor Raven immediately. _“I-”_ They had apparently given up on not causing a scene because a security officer grabbed her arm and pulled her away from the podium. She didn’t even try to argue with them as Headmaster Bradley tried to do damage control.

“Olivier Mira!” She lifted her head from the desk to find her mother standing in the doorway. “What on earth were you thinking?”

“I couldn’t stand there and lie.”

“I understand that.” Angelica Armstrong lowered herself onto one of the plastic chairs across from her daughter. “Why didn’t you tell us before?” She shrugged. “Livvie, dearest,” she leaned forward to take her hands, “did-” she faltered for a minute, “did Professor Raven hurt you?”  

“I didn’t say that.” Olivier muttered, not looking at her.

Angelica sighed, “I know that, dear. That’s why I’m asking. If your allegations are true-” if she noticed Olivier stiffening she didn’t comment, “we can sue the school. We might even be able to leverage legal action against Professor Raven, but I need to know what really happened.”

“Nothing, Mother.”

“Don’t be difficult, Livvie.”

“I’m _not._ ”

She sighed and squeezed her daughter’s hands before standing. “Well, your father and I are going to be speaking with King, regardless. When you’re ready we’d like you to come talk with him, too. We’ll be there with you the whole time.”

Olivier nodded and continued staring at the desk. With a final pat to her shoulder Angelica headed out the door. She wasn’t sure what to expect as she glided toward the headmaster’s office. She’d always been fond of the Bradleys, they were lovely, and she had a hard time believing they could have known about any bullying. On the other hand, she’d never known Olivier to be dishonest.

She almost didn’t notice the young man passing her on her way, but she realized with a start that she recognized him. Mills, or Michael, or whatever his name was, he was Olivier’s friend. She stopped in her tracks and turned just in time to see him heading into the classroom she had just vacated. Curiosity got the better of her and she crept back to peer in the doorway.

He knelt beside Olivier’s desk, touching her shoulder gently. Angelica had to strain her ears to catch what he said, “I heard you crying.” She frowned. Olivier _hadn’t_ been crying, she wasn’t sure when the last time her daughter had cried even was. Suddenly, unexpectedly, Olivier burst into tears, tumbling out of her seat into the boy’s arms. As Angelica watched, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, whispering softly in her ear. With a sinking feeling, she realized she might not know her daughter as well as she thought. Even so, she certainly knew what love looked like.

\---

Briggs University was bigger than Miles had expected. Unlike Olivier, he hadn’t been able to do any campus tours, but he’d gotten in and with a job on the side his scholarships would cover enough to get by. He wasn’t thrilled about having a roommate, but Olivier promised he could come to her single occupancy dorm anytime. Her parents had hired movers to unpack her belongings, so she headed over to help Miles unpack and set up his dorm.

“Your roommate isn’t here yet?” She queried, surveying the two tiny beds and two tiny desks.

“I guess not.” Miles shrugged. “Do you think it matters which side I take?”

“Which side do you prefer?”

“Is there a side that’s generally considered better? I don’t want to take one and have him hate me right off the bat.”

“I’m sure he won’t hate you for something like that!”

“You’re right, he’ll have other reasons to hate me.” He tapped the dark glasses he’d gotten into the habit of wearing.

“Don’t be such a pessimist. Pick a side and go with it. Worst comes to worse we’ll just move you back to the other side.”

They were nearly done, and Miles was just pushing the last of his storage boxes under his bed when the door burst open. He peered up from his place under the bed. A huge bear of a man pushed his way in.

“Hey! New roomie! I’m--” he stopped short, sputtering and face going red.

There was a long pause before “what is wrong with you?” Olivier turned to Miles who was still awkwardly lying under the bed. “Your new roommate is weird.”

Miles scrambled out. “Hello?”

“You’re my new roommate? Oh, thank goodness!”

“Excuse me?”

“Let’s just start over,” Miles suggested as Olivier bristled. He extended a hand to the big man, “I’m Miles. This is my-” he hesitated, “Olivier.”

“Okay. Um, I’m Buccaneer.” There was another moment of awkward hesitation before Buccaneer placed a prosthetic hand into Miles’ and shook it, “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.” He glanced around awkwardly, “we’re about finished here. Would you like any help bringing your stuff in?”

“Nah.” Buccaneer patted the oversized duffle he had flung over his shoulder. “This is it.”

“I’m going to go check on things,” Olivier said cooly, “I’ll see you later, Miles.” She turned to Buccaneer as though to say something, but seemed to change her mind, her nose scrunching disdainfully. Miles watched her go a touch forlornly.

“Is she always so-”

“You were just incredibly rude to her.” For all that he hadn’t wanted to upset his new roommate irritation was setting in.

“I didn’t mean to be!” Buccaneer looked horrified, “I just, well, I thought she was going to be my new roommate and I panicked!” Miles raised his eyebrows at him, unimpressed. “Women terrify me, especially pretty ones. I see one and my brain freezes up. It’s awful.”

Miles rubbed the back of his neck, and sighed. “I’m trying to decide,” he said at last, “if you’re a real person or a really elaborate hallucination.”

Buccaneer snorted. “Like I haven’t heard that before.”

“The fact that you have is concerning.”

“Eh,” he shrugged easily, “doesn’t bother me. So, you’ve picked the left? I’ll just set up here on the right, then.”

Buccaneer hadn’t brought a lot of things, but within the first few weeks they were spread everywhere, multiplying at an alarming rate. Miles made his bed every morning, kicking loose piles of Buccaneer’s clothes back onto his side of the room. Buccaneer was lucky if he could find his bed. Regardless, they found friendship an easy thing between the two, and Buccaneer even grew confident around Olivier, whose tolerance of him grew to a kind of affection.

It was only inevitable that the three of them would decide to go to the local bars together one Friday evening. Miles wasn’t much of a drinker or a socialite, so he hung back and nursed a fruity mixed drink that Olivier scoffed at but tasted far better than the beer she and Buccaneer were so fond of and watched them having fun. Buccaneer was engaged in a raucous game of pool that had him seriously questioning that any of the people involved knew the rules, and Oliver was--his heart dropped into his stomach--sitting on a table laughing while men practically lined up to flirt with her. Miles downed the rest of his drink without tasting it, the flavor overpowered by the bitter taste of jealousy.

It wasn’t quite intentional, but when the bartender offered him one drink and then another, he didn’t decline. The alcohol took away the edge of bitterness, leaving in its wake a kind hollow melancholy. How and why that led him to the phone booth on the street corner dialing his sister’s house at nearly midnight was a bit of a mystery.

“H-hello?” She was fighting a yawn even as she picked up.

“Elle!”

“Miles?” He could hear the worry in her voice, “are you alright?”

“I miss you.”

“Do you have any idea how lucky you are you didn’t wake the baby? It’s half-eleven! If you weren’t so blasted far away I’d come over to wallop you.”

“B-but,” the yawning emptiness inside expanded a little further, “I m-miss you.”

There was a long pause, and then “Are you _drunk_?”

“J-jus’ a lil’.”

“Making good use of that fancy scholarship, I see.”

“It’s not my fault,” he pouted, “Livvie-”

“Ishvala have mercy! Don’t tell me you finally worked up the nerve to tell her how you feel and she shot you down?”

“N-no! All the fancy rich boys are talkin’ to her, and I don’t like it!”

There was a dull thump on the other end of the line that a more sober Miles would have recognized as his sister smacking her head on her table. “But you _haven’t_ told her how you feel?”

“No.”

“What are you waiting on, dumbass?”

“S-she doesn’t feel the,” he hiccupped, feeling tears well up, “the s-same.”    

“Do you know that?”

“No. But I’m not all…” he struggled to produce the right word, “fancy!”

There was another thump and a low groan of frustration. “Miles! I cannot believe we are even having this conversation, but you are ‘fancy’. If you would just get over yourself and talk to her I’m sure you’d find there were all kinds of things about you that she liked better than those rich boys.” She cleared her throat and spoke with the same strong finality that she used on her toddler, “go home. Sleep it off, and when you wake up go talk to her. Got it?”

“B-but-”

“No. Go home and get some sleep. If you’re still a blubbering mess in the morning you can call me again, but for now you need to _go to bed._ ”

“Fine!” He slammed the phone down and slumped against the wall of the booth. It wasn’t fair! How could Elle understand? Olivier was a queen, a goddess, even! She was--

“Miles?” The door opened and the object of his affections peered in at him. “Are you alright? I heard you crying.” He stared at her, unable to articulate his inner turmoil. She frowned for a moment, before her face softened. “Are you homesick?”

“Yes!” He hadn’t realized it, but he _was._ His tears started anew.

Olivier sighed quietly. “Alright, you are never allowed to have that much alcohol again.” She held out an arm, “come here.”

He staggered against her, winding his arms around her and nearly pulling her to the ground. “Where we going?”

“Back to your dorm.” She let out a huff as she started to walk, “maybe my dorm, it’s closer.”

 

Back in her dorm, Miles nestled into her fluffy down comforter and inhaled deeply. “Smells like you.”

“Yeah?” Olivier glanced up from digging into her desk drawer and glared at him. “And take your shoes off, I don’t want dirt on my bed.”

Miles ignored her, rubbing his face on her pillow, instead. “Smells nice.”

She whacked his ankle to get his feet off her blanket. “Shoes, Miles.” He sat up slowly and began fumbling with the laces while she padded into her ensuite bathroom and returned with a glass of water. “Drink up,” she ordered, handing it to him and kicking his shoes into the corner and out of the way. He obeyed and she glanced around the room tiredly. “Alright, budge over.”

“W-what?” He stared as she shoved him over.

“I’m _not_ sleeping on the floor,” she explained, crawling under the covers beside him and clicking off the light. “Just don’t be weird.”

He wrapped his arms around her happily, sniffing her hair. “You smell nice.”

She kicked him, but didn’t shove him off. “What did I just say about being weird?!”

They lay in peaceable silence for a while, until “Olivier?”

“Yes, Miles?”

“I have to tell you something.”

She groaned. “What now?”

“I love you.”

She stiffened. “What do you mean?”

“I love you,” he said again simply. “You’re so smart and nice. I love how you sparkle when you’re angry and the way you always tell the truth. You’re stubborn and headstrong and I love you. Oh, and you’re really pretty.” He added as an afterthought.

There was a long pause and then Olivier patted the hand that was wrapped around her waist. “If you really mean it, Miles, tell me again in the morning.” He agreed happily and drifted into sleep. She lay awake a long time, pondering.

 

“Rise and shine, sleepyhead!” Miles groaned and pulled a pillow over his head. Olivier laughed, pulling the pillow away. “Did someone have too much to drink?” He nodded, and then groaned again. “Well, there’s water and aspirin on the bedside table and I’ve got pastry.”

He sat up slowly, and sipped down the water and aspirin. “What kind of pastry?”

“Raspberry danish.” She set some down in front of him and gave him a long look. “I don’t know what you drank last night, but I’m going to recommend you don’t do it again.”

He nodded again, and nibbled the pastry, watching her out of the corner of his eye. She didn’t seem particularly upset, but when he looked closely he could see signs of tension in the way she held herself, a kind of uncomfortable uncertainty hovering in her being. He drank a little more water and took a deep breath.

“About last night-” she stared at him with wider eyes than he had ever seen, “that wasn’t how I wanted to tell you at all, and I’m sorry for that, but I meant every word.”

“Tell me again, what you told me last night.”

“All of it?” He rubbed his head, “it’s a bit hazy-”

“Tch! Just the important part.”

He smiled sheepishly up at her. “I love you.”

“And you’re not still drunk?”

“I am not.” He got up, squinting a little at the newfound throbbing in his head, holding his arms out tentatively. “Is it so hard to believe?”

“A little.”

He frowned, “how so?”

“I didn’t think it would be possible for you to feel about me the way I feel about you.” She wasn’t expecting him to throw his arms around her, and lift her off her feet, but she couldn’t find it in her to be angry. Surprised laughter bubbled up in her and she buried her face in his shoulder. Laughing in response, he set her down. They smiled at each other, and then for the first time, met in a kiss.

\---

“Oh, Livvie, you look so beautiful!”

“I never thought I would see the day!”

“You’re the most beautiful bride I’ve ever seen.”

“Girls, why don’t you go wait with your brother? You’re stressing her out.” Olivier slowly lifted her gaze from the ring she was turning over and over in her hands to meet her mother’s eye in the mirror. Angelica smiled gently, reaching over to smooth the veil hanging down her daughter’s back. “Are you nervous?”

“No.”

“It’s alright, dear. I was terrified on my wedding day.” Olivier’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, and Angelica laughed softly. “It’s a huge change. Even if you’re completely ready to be married, going out and doing it in front of all those people is terrifying.”

“I think I’m going to puke.” Olivier admitted, scrunching up the white lace of her full skirted gown. “Is that normal?”

“Absolutely.” Her mother pulled the fabric out of her clutches and smoothed it carefully. “I have something for you.” She pressed an envelope into her hands.

Olivier took it, brow furrowed in confusion. “What’s this?”

“I know you and Miles said you didn’t want anything, but your father and I couldn’t bear the thought of the two of you honeymooning, well,” she frowned out at the snow-covered courtyard, “here.”

“I-” Olivier rose swiftly, “I think I need to go outside. Clear my head. Excuse me, Mother.” Angelica watched her leave through the sliding glass door, vanishing behind the snow-covered hedge, before turning and gliding out toward the sanctuary. She knew exactly what to do.

 

Olivier found herself in a gazebo in the center of a frozen pond, and slumped against the railing, her chest unexpectedly tight.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” She muttered to herself, as her eyes started to prickle. There was no doubt in her mind that she wanted to marry Miles, but actually faced with the wedding she wasn’t sure she could put one foot in front of the other to get to him. She tilted her face back and tried to stop the flood of tears. Amue had worked hard on her makeup, she didn’t want to ruin it and she especially didn’t want Miles to get the wrong idea from her tears.

“Liv?” She jumped, and whirled around to find Miles standing in the entrance to the gazebo. His eyes swept over her, taking in her lace gown, the slightly smashed bouquet she didn’t remember grabbing, the envelope with their names on it, and her teary face. “Jitters?”

She nodded. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“It’s alright. I’ve not been myself, either.” He crossed the gazebo and took her hand, tucking the bouquet under his arm and out of the way. “Are you alright?” She nodded and he beamed, “good. By the way you look--wow.”

“Wow, yourself.” She muttered, swiping at her tears. He did look handsome in his grey suit, deep red tie bringing out the shade of his eyes. “How did you find me anyway?”

“I heard you crying.”

“Did not.”

He laughed, “you’re right. Your mother told me to come find you.”

“She wanted you to keep me in line, hmm?”

“She wanted me to take care of you,” Miles corrected, “there’s more than one way to do that.” There was a twinkle in his eye that made her heart leap.

“Are we--” she hesitated, looking out over the glistening surface of the pond and seeing exactly what she was expecting: the officiant standing at the edge of the bridge, “running away from our own wedding?”

He nodded, beaming from ear to ear, “we’re running away from our own wedding.”

The ”ceremony” was a matter of minutes, the officiant simply asking them to affirm their love and intentions, swiftly signing the marriage license and sending them on their way with a blessing. Guests were just starting to get curious about the delay, peering outside in time to see them running, hand in hand, to the car Buccaneer had pulled around for them. Only once inside, Miles speeding down the driveway, did Olivier open the envelope: inside were two train tickets. The time of departure? Fifteen minutes before the ceremony was set to end.

 

\---

She had big curls, a button nose, and a smile that melted even the coldest hearts. Miles couldn’t help but laugh as she peered at him over the edge of the garden wall, before ducking down, giggling at his feigned dismay, oblivious to the way her pigtails stuck up, giving her away.

“Where’d she go?” Miles queried in a playfully loud voice, peering under the slides and then into the sandbox. “Excuse me, Sir,” he asked the bouncy-horse, watching the girl watching him, “have you seen a little girl around here? No? I guess I’ll have to go on the swings by myself, then.” He trudged over to them, “wow, these look so fun, and I can play on them all by myself!”   

“Wait! Daddy, no! I’m here!” She ran toward him, as fast as her little legs could manage. “Swing with me, Daddy!”

Laughing, he scooped her up. “Wow! You came out of nowhere!”

“Silly! I was over there the whole time!”

“Really?” He sank on to the swing, wrapping one arm around her waist, and grabbing the chain with his other hand. “Hold on, Ari, I don’t want you to fall.”

“I won’t fall, Daddy.” She sounded so much like her mother that he had to shake his head.

“Hold on anyway, alright?” She nodded, grabbing the chains with little hands. Miles pushed off, swinging slowly at first, but knowing full well it wouldn’t matter how fast he went, she would eagerly urge him to speed up. No matter what traits she inherited from him, Arrietty was her mother’s daughter through and through.

Sure enough, she was soon begging him to go faster and he obliged, scanning the park as he did so. By and large, he liked this park: another Ishvalan dad often came here with his little girl, a Xingese toddler who was so unlike him in appearance that even Miles had been skeptical the first time he’d seen them, but once the neighborhood had gotten used to him they’d stopped staring and started treating him like any other dad. Even so, he sometimes had to justify himself to strangers who somehow bypassed his daughter’s dark features and snow-white curls, honing in on the big blue eyes she had inherited from her mother. Arrietty already knew exactly how to tell nosy strangers to mind their own business, though Miles had been horrified at some of the words she’d learned from Olivier.

“Daddy?”

“Huh?” With a start, Miles realized he’d distractedly stopped exerting effort and the swing was slowing.

“When will Mommy come home?” She tilted her head back to stare up at him.

He smiled down at her, “soon, dear. Do you remember what we said about when she comes home?”

“She’ll be really tired, and I’ll have to be really quiet and help?”

“And?”

“And she’ll be bringing Torin and I have to be nice to ‘cause he’s my baby brother?”

“Try not to sound so enthusiastic.” Miles teased, mostly to hide his nervousness at the idea Arrietty wouldn’t take to her little brother. Olivier’s own struggles with her brother had made them both eager to facilitate a good relationship from the get go. “Are you worried Mommy and I won’t have enough time for you? We’ll have to share time with Torin, but we won’t love you less.”

“No.” The swing had slowed to a stop and she hopped off, making her way over to the sandbox. Miles followed, crouching next to her as she began digging, ignoring the sand she was throwing on him.

“What is bothering you, then?”

“I want a baby brother you can play with.”

He blinked. “What?”

“Torin sleeps and cries. He doesn’t know any games.”

Miles bit back laughter, “I’m sorry, dear. That’s just the way babies are. He’ll grow up faster than you think, and then he’ll be able to play all kinds of games.”

Arrietty fixed him with a sceptical look, before sighing as dramatically as only a three year old can. “Can’t I get a _different_ baby brother?”

He shook his head, “Give it time. You’ll love him once you get to know him.” Not to mention, after the difficulties they’d had conceiving and the complications in carrying, culminating in an extremely painful emergency c-section that had Olivier threatening to castrate him loud enough for the whole ward to hear, they certainly were not going to be looking to add a third child anytime soon.

 

It was a mark of just how difficult the past several days had been that Olivier didn’t protest when the nurses wheeled her out to the waiting car. Miles helped her in and then situated Torin’s car seat with the utmost care. Ari eagerly chattered away at her mother, filling her in on everything she’d missed.

“And I didn’t wet the bed even once!”

“That’s wonderful, dear.” Olivier shifted to look back at her in the back seat and then stopped, wincing. “I’m so proud of you.” To Miles she added under her breath, “our daughter has officially surpassed me in skill.”

Miles shook his head at her, reversing the car out of the parking spot. “I’m not certain having to use a bedpan is the same thing, love.”  

Apparently he wasn’t quiet enough because Ari piped in, “what’s a ‘bedpan’, Daddy?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Miles instructed, “why don’t you tell Mommy about the museum Uncle Buccaneer took you to?”

Olivier closed her eyes, making small noises of appreciation and interest as she listened, and the rest of the drive home passed peacefully.

 

Miles found himself cradling Torin to his bare chest while Olivier tucked Arrietty into bed. The infant was still a splotchy pink, but Miles thought he was paler than his sister had been, and his tufts of soft downy baby hair had more blonde than white. Olivier said it was too early to tell, but Miles rather thought Torin would take more after her, except as he blinked sleepily up at his father red irises made themselves known.

Miles’ breath caught. He’d known, of course, that his son had inherited his eyes and had seen them, but he’d primarily been busy looking after Ari and he hadn’t been able to study the newborn up close. It was amazing to him that the very feature that he had despised in himself for so much of his youth could seem so beautiful. The boy let out a little yawn, tiny face scrunching, and Miles felt a lump in his throat.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered to the child, “I love you so much.” He brushed a finger over his cheek, “I know you’re not going to know how to feel about your eyes later, but I promise you, you’re precious to me and to your mother. Your big sister is going to love you, too, just you wait, you’ll see.”

“Miles?”

He lifted his face, and found Olivier standing in the doorway, a sleeping Ari heavy in her arms. “What are you doing? You’re not supposed to carry anything heavier than Torin!”

“I’m fine,” Olivier seated herself on the sofa, shifting Ari and leaning against Miles. “What were you telling Torin?”

“Just how much we love him.”

“Mmh.” Her eyes fluttered shut, “I just hope he stays asleep for more than twenty minutes this time.”

“Did you pump earlier? I can feed him.”

She shook her head, “he isn’t latching as well as Ari did.”  

“Alright, well try to sleep now, you need it.” She nodded sleepily and within minutes her snores mingled with their daughter’s. Miles watched the three of them sleeping, a feeling of peace coming over him. Unbidden, tears of joy sprang up, rolling down his cheeks. His arms were full of sleeping infant or else pinned by Olivier’s body, so he let them fall, sniffing a little.

“M-Miles?”  

“Shh, go back to sleep.”

“I heard you crying.”

“I’m not crying.”

“Are you alright?”

“I’m wonderful.” She cracked open an eye at that, bright blue surveying him doubtfully. “They’re happy tears, Liv, I promise. Now seriously, go back to sleep. Torin will be hungry soon.”

She nodded, eye shutting again. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

He let the tears of joy roll unencumbered. His life, like his heart, was full of love and happiness. All was well.        

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


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